


Four Quarters (don't make a whole)

by EstaJay



Category: The Legend of Zelda & Related Fandoms
Genre: Gen, campfire conversations, character introspection
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-19
Updated: 2020-07-19
Packaged: 2021-03-04 21:47:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,703
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25373386
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EstaJay/pseuds/EstaJay
Summary: The night after a battle, Four has trouble sleeping.(He has a head full of people who refuse to let him sleep)
Relationships: Four & Warriors (Linked Universe)
Comments: 9
Kudos: 146





	Four Quarters (don't make a whole)

**Author's Note:**

> No updates for my longfics this week - need to do some plotting and rewriting for both of them   
> So have this oneshot as a small consolation   
> (I've finally pinned down how I want to write Four and its basically pulling from loose characterisation for my yugioh days - Four is Yusaku if he had the Arc V Yuboys shoved into his head)

It's never ideal to sleep while injured but in the middle of another generic forest goddesses know where or when, what's ideal is forgone for what's manageable. First, wounds are bandaged - second, cuts are stitched - third, potions are downed - and finally fourth, fairies are chased. None of the heroes are fully healed but no one is on the brink of death so that’s adequate enough. 

Four was lucky during the last ambush, leaving it with only a few scratches and bruises that are going to ache from here to the Sacred Realm come morning but for one, he doesn’t have a sprained ankle like Legend. For two, he doesn't have any broken bones like Wild. For three, he wasn't bleeding like Wind. Finally four, he wasn't nearly frozen solid like Hyrule-

But he did in the past, he was encased in ice and trapped by his own arrogance - but was that him or was that Blue? Is he Blue? Is Blue him? Is he a whole greater than the sum of the fragments or is just a persona puppeteered by four people forced to share a body?

“Plenty of stories but nothing to show for it.” was what he said when they were all comparing scars. He did have many stories to tell, not that he was completely comfortable sharing it with the others, not yet - but discounting his first adventure with the Minish (when he was undeniably whole) did he have eight stories to tell or simply two from four perspectives? His adventures with his namesake blade are a pain to look back on - so many moments and feelings contradict each other, all true but at the same time all fake. It was him but at the same time it was distinctly someone else The fragments were all parts of him yet their memories felt like looking through the eyes of a stranger. A foggy haze of a waking dream that he had proof was reality but still felt solidly illusionary. 

The clearest memories, the moments he felt complete and whole, were always drawing and sheathing the Four Sword from its pedestal at the start and end of his journey. But firstly, was the Link who drew the blade the same one who sheathed it? Secondly, did the magic care if all the pieces were put back where they belong or were the fragments haphazardly shoved together? Thirdly, how many times can a pot be broken and glued back together before it is damaged beyond repair? But finally fourthly, there will still be chips - tiny pieces that can never be recovered. 

The old man had said the worst scars can’t be seen. How brutally true that was. He has plenty of stories but nothing to show for it yet a multitude of cracks that draw him closer and closer into the empty abyss. (Not the shadows, the shadows aren’t empty - or that’s how they used to be.)

A bruise blooms on his side, a dull pain just under his ribs. One monster had gotten in a solid kick. There isn’t any bleeding, there isn’t anything broken but that is the place where-

_ He stands frozen in disbelief as Vio runs his sword through Green- _

_ He screams in anger and damns his inability to fly over there and punch that traitor in the face- _

_ He listens as an identical voice whispers in his ear as he feels the blade scrape past his side- _

_ He aims for the space between Green’s arm and torso because he wasn’t actually going to kill his- _

He cracks his eyes open and stares up into the night sky. The moon stares down, a quarter crescent, a smiling fragment of a whole. His thoughts are a jumbled mess, a crowd of voices that are still distinctly his but coloured by the fragments were both him and not him.

The worst scars can’t be seen so how do you know if they’ve healed - or if they aren’t scars but still open wounds?

He sits up as stiff as clockwork. There’s no chance he can go back to sleep now. Maybe he could take the next watch shift. 

A broad back blocks the glow of the dying embers. Maybe Time without his armour or Twilight without his hood or Warriors without his scarf or Sky without his cloak. It’s both surprising and unsurprising how similar some of the heroes looked. His first thought when that group of four stumbled into his forge like they never learned how to walk was that some unfortunate bandit had pulled the Four Sword from its Sanctuary. His second was outrage that someone had tried to steal the blade. His third was pity that someone else had been cursed with the same feeling of fragmented incompleteness. His final fourth noticed that for how similar they looked, there were too many differences for it to be the work of the Four Sword. Honestly, he would have preferred dealing with that than this mess. 

(But it’s nice - to be with others that are separate but whole and still individually Link. It makes him feel less broken.)

Whoever it is on watch is doing a shitty job as he walks up behind him without a single sign of acknowledgement. 

Highlighted by the shadows bordered by the fire’s rimlight is a worrying collection of scars on the back of his neck. First is the sheer number of them, second is how deep some of them are, third is how recent they all look and finally fourth is the unnerving implication there had been so many cowardly attempts on his life. 

_ Go back to sleep.  _

_ Call out to him.  _

_ Sit down next to him. _

_ Step on a twig to alert him _ . 

Four places a hand on his shoulder and instantly, he spins around with inhumane speed. 

First is the shove that pushes Four to the ground.

Second is the raw ruthlessness burning in his eyes. 

Third is the knife raised, poised and aimed at his throat. 

Finally fourth is the quiet gasp of recognition. 

The knife disappears into his sleeve and Warriors helps him back to his feet without another word. 

There’s a buzz of reactions in his head - four personas scrambled and scrambling.

_ “Geez, thanks captain.” _

_ “What the fuck, captain?!” _

_ “That was quite the greeting, captain.” _

_ “Are you okay, captain?” _

“So you’ve had to deal with traitors too, captain.” Is what Four finally says. 

The voices quieten and reconverge - like shadowy blobs merging into one. Heh, maybe that’s why he needed Shadow, to keep his fragments from dividing and falling apart. 

Warriors immediately drops his hand. “It’s nothing.”

The voices grow louder. Four is pushed away as the fragments try to assert themselves. 

_ “Like fuck that’s nothing!” _

_ “Those are some deadly reflexes.” _

_ “It wouldn’t have been nothing if you actually stabbed us.” _

_ “This is something that you need to talk about.” _

Four walks pass Warriors, every step piecing the fragments back in place. He learned a long time ago that fighting against them would only further break them apart. He isn’t them but they are him. They aren’t him but he is them. 

He sits down by the fire and pats the grass next to him, a simple invitation. After a moment, Warriors joins him. 

The fragments curl back into his core and he feels that illusion of wholeness. He’s getting better. Not like before when four trains of thought pulled him in every direction and left him paralysed. Four may be made of the fragments but he is fuller than they will ever be. 

They sit in a tense silence just waiting to be broken. 

Firstly, Warriors had been one move away from killing him. Secondly, those reflexes combined with those scars painted a clear picture of the captain’s past. Thirdly, Warriors insists that it’s nothing and all the heroes know better than to pry. Finally fourthly, Four wasn’t going to let him suffer in silence. 

“So how’s the shoulder?” Four asks. 

Warriors blinks. “...my shoulder?”

“The one you dislocated during the last fight - those don’t bode well with sudden movements.” 

“A little injury like that won’t hold me down for long.” Warriors smirks with pure fake bravado. “Just a little pop and everything will be back in place.” He spins his left arm around to punctuate his point. “I’ve been able to manage worse.”

“Yeah, those injuries are easy to manage not like the unseen ones - those always leave the worst scars. It’s harder to tell if you’ve recovered from them...or if you ever did.” Four says casually. He keeps his eyes on the fire and doesn’t watch for the captain’s actions. “A dislocated shoulder is easier to keep track of than a broken trust...or a fragmented soul.” There’s no need to say everything. What isn’t said is just as important as what is, especially between heroes known for their silence.

His mind is quiet, at peace. The shifting pieces settle down as one. It’s odd, in his confession that he’s broken is when he feels the most whole. 

Warriors rubs the back of his neck, no doubt missing his signature scarf. “The army has many turncoats and the hero has always been the favourite target of traitors.”

Four straightens. 

Firstly, he wasn’t expecting an honest disclosure. Secondly, his conclusions have been confirmed. Thirdly, Warriors is trusting him with something precious and sensitive. Finally fourthly, Four knows he can trust him in the same way.

“Sometimes, you get betrayed by those closest to you.” Four says, matching the captain’s carefully crafted statements. He feels himself begin to spilt as contradicting emotions from all sides of the betrayal rise up and clash. “That always lingers and aches like any healed over scar.”

“A scar may heal but it leaves a scar nonetheless.”

“It wouldn’t be a scar if it didn’t.”

“But it heals...do we heal?”

Four turns to Warriors and meets his gaze. “What else would this be?”

There will be other days where he feels fragmented and incomplete, pulled and falling apart at the seams. 

There will be other nights where the captain’s bravado gives way to the traumatised soldier underneath. 

But tonight, there are twin toothy grins as bright as the quarter moon overhead. 


End file.
